


Cotards, Infatuation, and Addiction

by BonesAndBreb



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Dissociation, Memory Loss, Temporary Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and also wattson being mean to him, derealization?, gratuitous wattson headcanons, robot gore?, theme of addiction?, this is mostly rev being mentally ill and creepy, this like borders dead dove territory, wattson is straight up sadistic in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29037195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndBreb/pseuds/BonesAndBreb
Summary: Revs sick of sticking around but there isn't a way to escape, right?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Cotards, Infatuation, and Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty please look at the tags and stay away if it may affect your mental health negatively.
> 
> But also, hello haven't written anything for apex in a hot minute, I haven't played in a month? I mayyy be free of the brainrot? Anywho new hyperfixation hours.

Been around too long, much too long.

Sure when he heard the source code was gone, he lashed out but sue him, he's grumpy. Being trapped in an ill-fitting shell for two hundred years will do that to you.

~~ And Loba’s just a sad orphan. ~~

He understands, really he's been mad for so long, rage is an emotion he knows fondly. She can be mad. He can be mad, the promise is no bluff, what other things could he fill his foreseeably immortal existence with? 

-

It's one day when the electrician accidentally smacks Pathfinder with a fence, he fried. Dropping down and blank. They had to take him away again.

He came back odd. Missing memories, small things mostly. Spilt coffee in the kitchen, the name of some child, a hidden hard drive.

He's fuzzy, and complains about it loudly. Revenant doesn't mind listening with a frozen face of indifference tucked into the corner of the common room.

She caused it and hearing of the troubles it caused, offers to take a look. He's fine after a day.

It gives him an idea. Hope-filled and desperate for it to work.

-

She could destroy him.

The longer he fantasizes about it the more likely it seems. The prodigy who made the ring? They had to weaken it, it was too strong! The fences that all competitors dread when they open up doors and walk around corners? And being able to fix Pathfinder with that amount of ease? Not even mentioning the reassembly of Ash?

**_She could destroy him,_ **

**_And he wants her too._ **

**_-_ **

“Girly~” he says almost giddily as he drops from the walls, interrupting a conversation. He doesn't miss the way shoulders tense and their owners go silent, glaring. “Aw, attention for me?”

“Go away demonio, you know there is nothing else you or I can do.” Her tone is surprisingly soft and  _ tired _ , like she's almost accepted her fate.

“I wasn't talking to you,” he hisses, turning towards the blonde in the hall, gloved hands gripping a steaming mug slightly too hard. “So,” he near purrs, “I've come to  _ ask _ for a favour.”

Icey blue eyes narrow but say nothing, a faint crack appears in lilac ceramic. He'd smile if he could.

“Watch your mug.” The crack grows, “this  _ favour _ will be in  _ our  _ common interests.”

“Common interests?” The wolf echoes, 

“I'm not talking to you~”

“Common interests?” The correct person asks, tone frigid.

“Common interests!” He confirms, “do it successfully and I'll be gone. Poof.” He chuckles to himself.

“Your source code still exists.”

**_“Not talking to you.”_ **

**_“_ ** Go on.” The smile following the statement is malicious, and it sends a thrill down his spine, a warmth in his chest, ‘is this happiness?’ He foggily thinks.

“A slow corruption, break me! Without breaking this shell. Let me atleast exist as a memory-less hunk of wire and metal for awhile. I saw what you did to Pathfinder. If this she'll isn't broken there's no reason to put my backed-up memories into a new form. I can be  _ me  _ without being  **_me._ ** ” He's frantic at this point. “PleaseIdon’twanttobehereanymore. I’vebeenherefortoolongalready. TWOHUNDREDYEARS.”

The mug breaks.

An annoyed grimace on her face she shakes hot chocolate off her hands, peeling off gloves and gingerly holding them with synthetic fingertips.

Quietly he whispers, “please?”

She looks up with a grin.

“No.”

He snaps, bladed hand coming to swing, wanting so desperately to re-carve that lichtenberg scar. He stops much too close, a single drop of blood rolling down the still smiling face. 

This is not the same scared girl he knew from the incident with the drone.

“You can't hurt me.” She says confidently, “You  **_need_ ** me.”

She's right and if he were human and alive  **_properly_ ** , he would be sobbing on the floor but all that's there is a hollow emotion, normal and it continues to gently gnaw at his existence.

He takes a step back and that's a mistake on his part. The smile grows and she takes a step forward. And he spirals.

He abandoned them in the hall in favour of going back to some corner.

-

“You can’t take that offer.” She sets her brand new cat printed azure cup down on the table, narrowing her eyes slightly,

“Why not?”

“Because…” she huffs,

“There’s no reason why not? He’s not wrong. He’d be functioning with no memory,  _ not damaged _ . No reason to reset and throw him into a new body. As long as Hammond doesn’t hear he could continue to exist without being…  _ Him.” _

“He wouldn’t know what he did, I want him to  _ suffer _ for his crimes.”

“He will.” it’s a statement. “But we have a chance to have him gone from our lives, and if it works how he wants it to, we could live never seeing him again, the simulacrum will always outlive us. Unfortunately.”

-

“Unfortunately” 

-

“I want to look at your wires.” it’s nonchalant, uncaring, exactly what he needs.

_ She’s so perfect! _

Insulated gloves are peeled off and sparks crackle at her fingertips. It  _ would _ imply danger, a warning to stay far away. He inches closer, vaguely gesturing at himself, shut up for once, almost polite in his want.

She isn’t gentle, roughly grabbing and prodding inside him. When a noise of pain slips from him, she yanks harder, a faint smirk on her lips

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, thank you.” She just glares, he isn’t ready for the electricity that courses through him, and very fast all thoughts seem to escape him except for the pain. It’s bliss in a sick way. An excuse to feel nothing and something at the same time. 

It’s gone too fast.

There’s a pleasant fog. It’s working, an escape. He won’t be trapped! Free from his shitty overstayed existence.

More electricity, more fog. Eventually, she has to snap her fingers to get his barely-there attention.

“Is it working?” she asks so innocently, like she doesn’t know the answer.

“I’m still me,” he growls, eager for more “keep going.”

Rolling her eyes, she mutters “manners.” but then the electricity is back.

The fog fills his brain…  _ His head _ . He has no brain..? This isn’t his body? He isn’t supposed to be here? He’s a living ghost..? 

His name is Revenant.

“I know your name you stupid simulacrum.” he hears, it sounds distant.

-

When he barely responds to the jab, she knows he’s too far gone, perfect.

She starts ripping away wires, pulling out parts, relishing the garbled wail, and the twitch of now useless mechanical limbs.

“Suffer.” she giggles, high on the power she holds currently.

The floor is littered with parts before she pauses to take a break, wiping away at her forehead. Glowing eyes flicker, his voice has long been gone, but he’s still somehow clinging to whatever his version of consciousness is.

Putting a hand on the wire she knows ends it, she leans over, looking right into the eyes.

“I’ll see you next week.” It’s a guarantee. 

She watches with growing satisfaction as golden eyes flicker a few times before going out completely.

Wiping grease off her hands on a rag, and idly looking at the hunk of metal lying there she wonders if she should’ve taken a video for Loba.

-

He’s back. Waking up to a gray ceiling and another piece of existence he doesn’t want…

But it worked. A promise of what could be, endless fog where he doesn’t know his own name much less any intentions or thoughts.

He craves it, one taste, and now it’s an addiction.

He can only get that delicious feeling from her.

**_“She’s perfect.”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I might write another chapter mayyybeee? But this was mostly an excuse to write gratuitous wattson headcanons (including MEAN WATTSON) and maybe mildy project onto rev. (jfkdahdjfd my unhealthy coping mechanism is writing angst. /hj)


End file.
